Feminicidio
by Punisher Ops
Summary: Punisher infiltrates the corrupt border city of Ciudad Juarez to investigate the mass murder of women/girls there – and to avenge them by any means necessary.
1. Chapter 1

Feminicidio

Punisher

1

Montoya cartel hideout; City of Ciudad Juarez

For nearly two weeks, Punisher had been in the crime-ridden city of Juarez. A city, like many others in Mexico, was corrupt to the point of insanity. At the heart of this corruption was an inactive/indifferent government. While the so-called global experts endlessly debated as to what the hell was behind it, it wasn't rocket science to figure it out. It was the goddamn cartels and their bullshit extortion/bribery measures that were fueling it all.

And it was getting innocent Mexicans killed in the process – notably females - and with no justice to harmonize these crimes against humanity.

Frank had known this long before setting one foot over the border, and while the experts and UN continued to dance around the issue, Punisher was going to war – whether they or these cowardly pukes liked it or not. What should have been god honest commonsense wasn't, but then again, Punisher often believed commonsense wasn't common at all anymore. It was anything but that now – and that just wasn't good enough.

And as his wife and daughter had been murdered by similar bastards as these, when he found the cowards behind it, he intended to take his time with them like a true professional before sending them all to hell/oblivion.

Since he'd arrived in-city under the guise of an arms dealer, Castle had been gathering info on the prominent gangs and mobs of the city to better understand the overarching crime dynamics at work. Once he had good enough info, he would then begin his surgical fight for the master perps responsible for the many unsolved female homicides crying for vengeance.

For the moment however he was biding his time with a man named Tomas – a lieutenant to one of the rising crime lords in the region – an elusive, paranoid man named Montoya. And from what little Punisher had gathered on this Montoya so far, it was that he was a total sadistic asshole. Whether or not that linked him to the many female homicides remained to be seen. Ironically, Punisher could kill them all just because they were criminal cockroaches, but something about these incredibly high murder rates of females was really gnawing at him more than the many other ongoing crime ops taking place all around him.

"...Senor Smith...?" said Tomas to break Punisher's moment of concentration.

"Hmm?"

Tomas offered him a beer.

"No gracias."

"Ah, no drinking on the job, is that it?"

"You could say that."

Tomas shrugged and sipped from the bottle instead. "You know, the boss is very appreciative of your personally coming down here to do business with us."

"Well, I needed to expand my customer base..."

"And coming to Mexico did that for you?"

"Yeah. It's close enough that it can still afford me some lucrative opportunities while keeping operational costs down to a minimum."

Tomas nodded and chuckled. "I see. We did find it interesting though that an underworld businessman of your stature would want to deal with us. I mean, let's be honest here, my boss is still an emerging presence here in Juarez. You could have dealt with the older groups..."

"The older city gangs are already well-supplied, and they wouldn't pay my prices anyway."

Tomas nodded. "True."

A ring of Tomas' thugs then surrounded Punisher – or Mr. Frank Smith, arms dealer extraordinaire, for this occasion.

Punisher, acting weak, looked around at the group of encircling thugs. "What's – what's going on here?"

"Rumor has it that you've been inactive for a while, Senor Smith," said Tomas. "Senor Montoya has tasked me with finding out why."

"But – but you said that I checked out okay."

"Oh, yes, you did, but we both know that can amount to nothing in our line of work. And in our business...one can't be too careful."

Four of the largest thugs stepped forward to surround Punisher.

"And if...I check out okay this time, then what?"

"Then maybe you go to meet the boss and do some business after all."

"And if I don't...?"

Tomas grinned, chuckled, and shrugged. "In that event, senor...other arrangements might need to be made..."

"What...?"

A thug from Punisher's rear approached and jabbed a stun baton into the small of Punisher's back. Frank went up on his toes, arced backward, convulsed, and screamed as electric current tore through him. In a short moment, he lapsed into unconsciousness and was caught by the thugs before he could fall to the floor.

Without needing additional orders from Tomas, the thugs set up the room for interrogation. With practiced efficiency, the room was readied in little time. Stripped of his clothes, the naked Punisher was tied up via a ceiling cord and secured upright by the wrists.

Tomas emptied his beer bottle as several carts were rolled up beside Punisher. One had surgical tools and various toxic liquids on it and another had a car battery with attached cables and a bucket of water and sponges beneath it. It was a standard interrogation kit and often worked well for Tomas in the past. He doubted this occasion would prove any different.

Rolling up his sleeves as the men prepped Castle for interrogation, Tomas said, "Now we shall get to know each other on a more...informal basis..., eh, Senor Smith?"

A thug rolled up a portable defibrillator right before Tomas was about to start.

Tomas commended the thug. "Good thinking, mi hermano. That may come in handy later on during this...discourse of ours."


	2. Chapter 2

2

Frank was still unconscious as Tomas' men wiped down the bare sides of his chest with wet sponges.

The thug assigned to the jumper cables turned the battery on and touched the live cables together... They sparked powerfully on contact. Tomas and the cable-holding thug shared a sadistic look and smile, and nodded together.

Tomas gave the nod for the interrogator thug to begin.

The thug pressed the cable ends lightly against the sides of Frank's wet chest sides. The current traveled rapidly throughout Frank's body and violently convulsed. Mere moments later, Frank was forced to consciousness, screaming.

For Tomas, it could have been music to his ears. Granted, this was supposed to be professional work – and it was – but that didn't mean that he couldn't...revel in it either. Besides, given the forms of "enjoyment" his boss partook of – having taken great inspiration from the late Gadaffi – what Tomas did now was quite...tame by comparison.

"Oh, yes, Senor Smith, keep up that wonderful sound," said Tomas, continuing to let his thug shock Frank.

A moment later, Tomas nodded at the looking thug and he pulled the cables away from Frank's chest. At the instant the thug did this, Frank groaned with relief and dropped his head. He sagged against his restraints that then began to dig into his wrist flesh due to his forced vertical positioning. Smoke rose from the electrical burns in Frank's flesh, along with a nauseating burning smell to accompany it.

Tomas stepped up to Frank's sagging form and lightly patted his cheek. Frank moaned slightly but didn't come fully to. "Senor Smith, are you still with me?"

Frank's words slurred as he tried to talk. The truth was that all of the intense shocking in so short a span of time had jacked up Frank's overall motor control.

It also caused him to lose control of his bodily functions...

"Um, sir," said the interrogator, pointing down between Tomas and Frank.

Tomas looked down...to see Frank involuntarily urinating on his pants – his _very _expensive trousers that the finest in local slave labor had produced. Tomas felt the warm liquid touch his skin; he jumped back and growled.

Some of the thugs started to chuckle...

Tomas shot them the look of death.

They quit laughing instantly and returned to working/patrolling.

Clearing his throat, the interrogator said, "Senor, shall I continue?"

Tomas studied the naked Frank and pondered it. Though pissed about his pants (in more ways than one), he could always get another pair. It also gave him another opportunity to visit the lovely ladies in the cartel-controlled factories...and get extra satisfaction for his trouble.

When Tomas didn't answer, the interrogator secured the cables, brought forth a switchblade, deftly flicked it open, and moved toward Frank.

"If you like, sir, I can remove his manhood for you to keep as a trophy – or to devour – for what he did to your most elegant attire."

The interrogator held the knife beneath his goal.

Frank felt the coolness of the knife blade against him. It would only take a quick flick of the thug's wrist...

"No," said Tomas.

"But, sir, I've barely worked on him..."

"Ammonia instead. Then...I might have him sent to the factories to work for a while."

"Si, senor."

The thug picked up a surgeon's scalpel from the interrogation cart, dipped the blade into ammonia, and returned to the restrained Frank.

The thug then cut into Frank's flesh at the ribs, and above the still electrical burning areas.

The cutting, combined with the ammonia's intense burning potential, returned Frank to alertness with violent immediacy. Frank screamed and convulsed as the interrogator cut superficially into him with precision.

Tomas had always thought the interrogator had possessed a steady hand for this sort of thing. Then again, he had been the village butcher before being conscripted into service by the cartel.

Tomas let this continue for about half a minute – an eternity for someone in Frank's position – before raising a hand to stop the interrogator.

Tomas returned to stand before Frank again. "How are you feeling now, Smith?"

"Like...hell."

Tomas chuckled. "You've but only tasted hell, Smith. For you see, we have no need to do business with you."

"What...? I don't understand..."

"Of course not. You arrogant gringos think you can tell us enterprising Mexicans how to do our business. You push us around but you don't know anything about this great nation – our way of life. You call us a culture of thugs, hypocrites, and oppressors. But what about you, eh? You murder innocent people around the world with those drones of yours, just to nail a few guilty ones amongst them. Who's the real thug now?"

"I'm...apolitical – a businessman. We have...a lot in common..."

Tomas shook his head. "I don't think so, little man. You are but a boy trying to stand amongst men, in a land of men. Now, you shall learn how things really work in Mexico." He stepped away from Frank. "Cut him down."

The sentry thugs complied; the interrogator was disappointed.

"Don't look so sad, Esteban – there will be other opportunities for you in the near future. I promise you that."

"Si, senor."

Tomas said, "Put the gringo – our gringo – in a chair. Then, he gets to taste a little of our fine product..."

The thugs put Frank into a chair, restrained him, and brought over a loaded syringe...

"You are now the property of the magnificent Senor Montoya, gringo. You are now our little bitch – to do with you whatever we wish..."

Tomas nodded.

Frank struggled in his restraints. "No! You can't do this! I'm a businessman. I can help you..."

A thug jabbed him hard in the face, stunning him. The thug with the syringe stuck it into Frank's forearm and injected its powerful hybrid narcotic into his system.

Frank tried to fight it with all of his training, and will, but even the greatest commando in human history couldn't prepare himself for the sheer disabling power of this drug that made meth, coke and heroin look like candy by comparison.

This was the new secret that would catapult the young Montoya cartel to absolute Mexican power, and fast. The other cartels would fall beneath the sheer addictive power of this drug that guaranteed addiction without overdose. That meant infinite repeat customers – and infinite profits.

It meant global dependency.

Frank's eyes rolled up into the back of his head and his words continued to slur. Even his iron will was battered down.

The door to the safe house was unexpectedly opened, causing Tomas and his men to tense...

Suited men with automatic weapons entered. Tomas and his thugs recognized them immediately...

After them, entered their boss – Senor Montoya.

Walking with a cane for fashion as opposed to necessity, the handsome aspiring crime lord that was destined to surpass all rivals stopped at seeing the naked Frank.

"Senor? I didn't expect you to come here..." said Tomas.

Montoya held up a hand. "It's quite all right, Tomas. You did your job well, as usual."

"But...I've only begun with him. It's just psychological right now..."

"I know. But he's not who he appears to be either."

"What, sir?"

"This is none other than the legendary Frank Castle – the Punisher..."

Tomas and his men were shocked.

Panicking, Tomas drew his sidearm, readied it, and aimed it at Frank's head for a quick kill shot...

"Tomas, no!"

"But, sir..."

"Need I repeat myself?"

He most certainly did not. Tomas secured his weapon.

"Forgive me, sir...but did you know this before his arrival?"

"Not long after it, yes. My bribed American sources came through, as usual."

Montoya moved to stand beside his trusted lieutenant, and continued studying Frank with fascination.

"You did right making him high on our product," said the crime lord. "Good work."

"...Thank you, senor."

This was high praise indeed – all coming from the man of power rumored to cover the furniture and line the floors of his mansions with the skins of those he'd raped and killed in his meteoric criminal ascendancy.

The truth – they weren't rumors.

"What of this pig, senor?" said Tomas.

"Keep him doped up, and make him work in our factories. That was your plan all along, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir – unless you objected."

"That is fine, Tomas. I can think of nothing better than having the so-called great Punisher being our perpetual drug slave. How humiliating that is to everyone that hates us and loves him. Don't you think?"

"Yes, sir."

Setting his mouth near Tomas' ear, Montoya whispered, "I have five adolescent girls - two of them recently abducted white ones from LA – that need...broken in. Interested?"

Tomas smiled. "Yes, senor. Most definitely."

"Good. I will have them sent accordingly." Montoya wrapped an arm around Tomas' shoulders. "Soon enough, amigo, we shall do what the Arabs and the Soviets could not – bring down the west. Not through armies or martyrs, but through the needle..."

The Montoya cartel's narcotic was about to "invade" the world – starting with North America.

As they looked at the weakened Punisher, which served as immediate proof of their broader intent, the two major criminals shared a very evil laugh.


End file.
